


A second opinion

by Sunlolli



Category: Hetalia: Axis Power - Fandom
Genre: Based off a headcanon I have, England (hetalia) centric, England (hetalia) has abandonment issues, Exploring England as a character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of a vent fic too, Light Angst, One Shot, Therapy, sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunlolli/pseuds/Sunlolli
Summary: A session with the short-tempered Brit's psychiatrist.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	A second opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First fic on an actual writing platform - Last I posted writing this way was back in 2013 on DeviantArt and boy o boy, those fics.... Yeahh  
> Anyway, I'm excited to start posting my drabbles here - Such as this one, so without further ado  
> Enjoy!

"May I tell you what I think?" The woman says. She sits calmly before him, an easy air around her, and the sun softly shining through the office blinds behind her. England nods with a soft sigh through his nose.

"Yes, go right ahead."

The woman smiles, and gently lays her pen on the clipboard in her lap.  
"I think,"

She starts, and for some reason England feels his stomach flip slightly.

"That you are experiencing a feeling of inadequacy towards yourself. You said that you were pushed around a lot when you were younger, and history speaks favors for that, but for you personally, Arthur, despite your situation being very unique - What you have gone through is very common among a lot of children around the world, no matter the time and age."

She pauses to take a breath and think over how to phrase her next words correctly. England, or rather, Arthur sits stiffly in his chair, feeling stuffy and uncomfortable as she tries to figure out how to read his history, as if he's not an entire country incorporated into a single fleshy mess. He swallows, and reaches for the glass of water he was offered at the very beginning. 

"You were put down by your brothers especially, you seem to mention them a lot when talking about your childhood, but you don't seem to blame them or think of them ill, in the same way as you do with other relations, such as namely France and the Nordic countries. Could it be today, that because of this constant belittling from your peers back then, that you strive to overgo them or, perhaps, to prove that you aren't one to belittle and bully anymore?"

Her voice fades out at the question, and Arthur sits with the glass of water still held to his lips. He hasn't drunk anything yet, he can't bring himself to.  
Softly, with a tone that is so uniquely human, she adds: "Arthur, do you feel like you need to prove to the world, that you are an equal?"  
The way she leans forward slightly, saying his name instead of his title, kind of wiggles its way into his brain in a way he hasn't tried before.  
He clears his throat, once and then once more for good measure, then takes a sip of water. It's room temperature, kind of stale. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and it makes his throat feel tight. He must've swallowed wrong. 

"Maybe." He says hoarsely. "Yes. And no." He adds after a moment. The woman, Olivia, motions for him to continue, patiently leaning back in her chair, taking her pen in her hand again. He silently follows the motion of her hand with his eyes. She notices.  
"Would you prefer if I didn't take notes?" She asks calmly. It almost takes him by surprise, that she even noticed him looking, but he meets her gaze and starts tapping a finger against his glass of water still held in his hands.  
"Oh, well if it's not too much trouble."  
Olivia shakes her head. "None at all." She says, then bends forward to place the clipboard and pen on the small table between them before sitting back in her chair.  
"Alright, could you elaborate on the 'yes' and 'no'?" 

It takes a moment but Arthur starts explaining.

"I... Partly agree that... Perhaps I have some feelings of not being to quite the same standards as other countries regarding... A lot of things." Arthur begins, fingers still tapping idly against the glass in his hold, small vibrations making water-circles dance around the glass.  
"But I don't just want to prove myself to others for the sake of approval and recognition, I want to prove as much to myself that I can do everything they can, that I'm not just some... Island, for anyone to mess with."  
His voice seems to raise in pitch at the end of the sentence, and he has to take a breath to keep it from breaking. Olivia says nothing, but nods along to show him she's listening.  
He looks at her briefly, before looking back down at his glass.

"Because what if that's just what I am?" He says, quieter this time. "Just some island... For others to push around, and leave behind."

It's an admission he isn't proud of. Something he's damn well embarrassed to say out loud. But it's been a long couple of years, and what does he lose by admitting it quietly in a psychiatrist's office in London.

He doesn't look up from the water, and Olivia seems to take some time to think. 'Maybe I shouldn't have asked her to put that clipboard down, maybe this could've gone by faster if so' he thinks to himself, and he feels a tightness in his brow.

"You feel frustrated with yourself, that you feel like you always have to strive towards being someone or something that, in your mind, are greater than your current self, is that correct? A sort of, never-ending strive for betterment. Because if you aren't striving towards betterment, then you will fall behind?"

Looking up slowly, England stares at her. "Why that's... Yes, that is... Yes."

The resounding clunk of Arthur setting the glass of water back on the coffee table seems to ease the air.  
Olivia smiles. "Well then, can I ask you another question?"

Arthur nods silently. "Sure."

"You mentioned earlier that you are afraid to be someone left behind, so I wanted to ask; Are you afraid of abandonment, Arthur?"

It's almost like a surge of electricity pulsing all the way from the pit of his stomach traveling up his throat and lotching itself fast. Prickling and aching, and this time it can't be because he swallowed wrong. And he can't think of any other excuses that his vision starts getting cloudy, and Olivia starts to look blurry.  
Arthur lifts his fisted hand to his mouth and looks to the side with a cough, as if it was just spit swallowed wrong or a wrong inhalation of air, but the fist stays in front of his mouth, and his head stays turned, eyes averted to a wall with a desk and a world map hung neatly with a single framed kid's drawing. He blinks, face feeling warm. Something shuffles from Olivia's direction, then he spots something blue and white in his peripheral, it slides slowly toward him on the sofa table. Slowly turning his head back facing front, he sees it's a small box of tissues, one already poking out, as if challenging him.  
But when he starts lowering his fist and sees Olivia still sitting calmly and patiently before him, there is only so much one can do before the waterworks sets in, and tears as salty as the seven seas themselves starts spilling onto his cheeks, and he hoarsely mutters a "perhaps."


End file.
